


Day 6: Supernatural

by Anonymous



Category: Naruto, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Hashirama is either a Very Good or a Very Bad angel, I survived SuperWhoLock and all I got was this shitty au, M/M, Madara and Izuna are kind of Sam and Dean, Supernatural Elements, Tobirama is . . . an angel.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 23:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15568314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In which Madara is both a psychic and a hunter, Izuna is missing, Hashirama and Tobirama are angels, and I co-opt the plot of S4 of Supernatural.Featuring intrigue, childhood friends, space, and kit-kats.





	Day 6: Supernatural

Madara stomps down the hallway, yanks open his front door, and yells, pointing an accusing finger, "You're late!"

The two men lurking outside his door startle. Madara ignores the taller one and jabs his finger into the paler one's chest. "Izuna's been gone for a MONTH, and I can't find him without you."

The man, with his pale skin and paler hair and eerily reflective red eyes, gives him an unimpressed look. Madara bares his teeth at him and turns around to grab his duffle bag from behind the door. 

A hand on his shoulder stops him. "How did you know we were coming?" the pale man asks, his voice startlingly deep. 

Madara snorts. "I'm a psychic, dipshit. Of course I knew. Now hurry up and get in the car."  
"Don't you want to know our names first?" The taller one deploys distractingly effective puppy eyes, blinking down at Madara like it will make him give in. 

Madara looks away first and the rat bastard takes it as an invitation. 

"I'm Hashirama," he says, ignoring the way Madara snaps his head up to gape at him. "And that is my little brother Tobirama!"

Madara narrows his eyes, then reaches out tentatively with his mind. If it is Hashirama-

"It is you!" Madara grins, slight and crooked, "Where have you been you flaky bastard? You're ten years too late for that meeting with the family I promised you." 

Hashirama blinks at him, accepting, but blank. Madara opens his mouth to try and jog his memory, but before he can, the pale one, Tobirama, catches his eye and gives a slight shake of his head. 

Trust him, his powers whisper, and they haven't steered him wrong yet. Madara snorts. "You always were an idiot."

Hashirama visibly wilts. "You sound like my brother."

Madara flicks his eyes over to the brother in question. His face is flat and stoic, devoid of any humor. It's easy to imagine him insulting Hashirama. 

The thought puts Madara's hackles up. 

He spins on his heel and walks for his truck. 

-

Hashirama blabbers on from the backseat - something something angel of the lord, something something apocalypse, something something seals. Madara tunes him out, and listens to his brother, giving quiet directions from the passenger seat.

Whatever they need him to do, it doesn't matter. Madara would burn the world down to see his brother again. 

-

They stop at a hotel once it gets dark, more for Madara's benefit than anything. 

Hashirama isn't human. They established that back when Madara was nine and dumb enough to talk to voices from thin air. Some monsters need to sleep, but Madara doubts he's one of them.

So Madara isn't surprised when someone follows him out onto the roof. He's only surprised that it's Tobirama, and not his brother. 

"Where did you meet my brother?" Tobirama asks, with all the tact of a brick wall. 

Madara glances up at him through his lashes. Tobirama stands like a tornado wouldn't move him, feet shoulder width apart, back perfectly straight, hands clasped behind him. He's not looking at Madara, but Madara isn't sure he could stand the weight of those eyes. Even now, he's almost glowing against the night sky. 

"Why should I tell you anything?" Madara shifts, swings his feet over the edge of the roof. 

"You've already decided to trust us." Tobirama points out, as though it is as obvious as the crescent moon on the horizon. 

"I've decided to trust you," Madara corrects. He lets out a soft sigh, then shuffles around so he can see Tobirama's face. "Hashirama showed up when I was about five. One of my brothers had just died and I was pretty messed up about it. I needed a friend."  
"I can't imagine your family was happy about that." Tobirama murmurs. 

"They're hunters." Madara gives an expansive hand gesture. "They hate everything. Hashira never did anything more malicious than steal me chocolate."

"Did you tell them he was an angel?" Tobirama inclines his head so he can look at Madara's face. 

"Angels don't exist." Madara turns to look back out at the badly lit parking lot.

Tobirama makes a scoffing noise. "Did you listen to nothing my brother was saying?"

"Was he saying anything important?" Madara kicks his heels against the building. 

"I am an angel of the Lord," Tobirama intones. "As is my brother. Everything-"

"Prove it," Madara says.

"What?" Tobirama blinks at him. If he were any less stoic, he'd be startled. 

"The angel thing," Madara clarifies. "Prove it."

Tobirama looks at him blankly. Madara suspects no one's ever doubted he was an angel before. It gives him a perverse sort of satisfaction, watching the icy bastard at a loss. 

"Very well," Tobirama eventually says, still sort of nonplussed. 

Madara expects some sort of lightshow, something with wings and the voice of God or something similarly dramatic. 

Instead, Tobirama bends down, hooks an arm beneath Madara's knees, and lifts him, bridal style. Before Madara can protest, the world blurs. 

-

"Put me down," Madara shrieks, wriggling in Tobirama's grip. The other man's grip doesn't falter, which is annoying. Madara isn't a weak man, or a small one, even though he's shorter than the other.

"Stop blustering and look," Tobirama says impatiently. 

Madara does, and the sight freezes him in Tobirama's arms. They're hanging in the night sky, which Madara might have accepted as proof - most supernatural creatures can't fly without wings. But when Madara looks down, there's no ground within seeing range. Instead, far, far away, he can see a tiny blue orb with patches of brown and green. 

"Holy shit," Madara breathes, then pushes himself up to look over Tobirama's shoulder. Sure enough, the moon is hanging in the sky, brighter than Madara has ever seen it. 

"Holy shit," he says again, "No way, this isn't possible."

"With God, all things are possible." Tobirama intones. Madara smacks him. 

Gently, and on the arm that isn't supporting most of his weight.

"I'm not going to drop you." Tobirama sounds amused. Madara really ought to get his hands off the bastard's shirt. 

"This must be some kind of trick," Madara mutters, "There's no way- isn't the earth moving?"

"Yes," Tobirama says calmly, "We are also moving. Quite quickly, as it happens. I am also attending to the matters of oxygen and air pressure."

"Yeah." Madara says faintly, "OK, that's great. Let's go back down now." 

"As you wish," Tobirama says, and there's that same whooshing noise. 

-

Madara is torn, when they land on the hotel roof, between dropping and kissing the filthy concrete and clinging to Tobirama harder - it feels, somehow, like his own two feet are less safe. Because he's a mature adult and also because Izuna would mock him, he does neither, settling for sitting down a bit too quickly when the angel releases his legs.

"Right," Madara says, "Okay. You're an angel."

"I am," Tobirama says. "And the world is ending."

"Great," Madara says faintly.

"Not great," Tobirama corrects firmly, "It will mean the end of all life on this earth."

"I-" Madara stops, deciding explaining sarcasm to an angel isn't what he'd like to do with his evening. "You know what, nevermind. Why are you bothering with me, then?"

Tobirama visibly freezes. Under Madara’s curious gaze, he twitches away. 

“There are sixty six seals holding back the apocalypse. We are here to prevent them from breaking. We require your help.”

“No you don’t.” Madara scrubs a hand through his hair. Tobirama looks vaguely panicky.

“I thought psychics could not understand the thoughts of angels.” Tobirama even sounds sort of panicky. Madara kind of wishes he had a camera.

“I can’t,” Madara says, “Not without burning my eyes out. You’re just a shitty liar.”

Tobirama narrows his eyes at him.

Madara gives him a shit-eating grin. “You might want to start with not confirming that you lied the minute you get found out.”

“There is no use for deception in heaven,” Tobirama grumbles, folding his arms and looking off into the distance. 

Madara shrugs. “Whatever. S’not like I care what you actually need me for. As long as I get my brother back, we’re even.”

“The seals are more important.” 

“Not to me,” Madara says, and whatever he sounds like, whatever poison is dripping from his words, it’s enough to get Tobirama to give him a sharp look. “The seals have kept this long, and you’re going to take me to my brother anyways. Why not do it now?”

“The seals must come first,” Tobirama says, but there’s a flicker of doubt in there. 

Madara’s not nearly a good enough person to ignore the opening.

“One seal,” Madara bargains, “Then we get my brother.”

Tobirama’s obviously not used to haggling. He hesitates, his eyes flicking over Madara’s face, then nods.

Madara feels his face stretch in a grin.

-

Hashirama’s the kind of person who won’t shut up on roadtrips. 

Madara may or may not be feeling a little bit guilty for not listening to him yesterday, so he doesn’t tune him out this time around. 

Actually, it’s kind of useful knowledge. He’s talking about the seal, which apparently entails spilling innocent blood on some kind of sacred rock. Tobirama corrects him, says it’s blessed, but Madara doesn’t listen too much about the differences.

He’s more interested in the practical stuff - how many demons are going to be there, what kind of defenses they’ll set up, how many innocent people need to be killed. That kind of thing. Hashirama’s much less flaky if you’re questioning him with a definite goal in mind, and there’s something about him that makes Madara think he really wants the seal dealt with. 

There’s a sort of quiet dignity about him when he talks about people dying, an air that makes Madara want to sit up and listen. Tobirama always reminds Madara of the sort of stuck up brownnosers who do well in military schools, but Hashirama-

Madara could believe that Hashirama is an Angel of the Lord, caps and all.

Then, of course, he runs out of tactical deals to ask about, and Hashirama starts entertaining himself by demanding that they stop at every roadside attraction, farm, and gas station they pass on the highway.

Eventually, Madara buys him a chocolate bar to shut him up, and tries not to notice how much nicer Tobirama looks when he’s smiling at his brother.

-

They arrive at the little town - called Sacred Rock, because human creativity is limitless - a little before midnight. Hashirama insists that they need to find a hotel to stay in for the night, and Tobirama doesn’t side with Madara when he insists that he can skip one night of sleep.

Tobirama ends up bundling him to the room they pick up in the shitty little family owned motel Hashirama decides to stop at, while the other angel lurks at the bar and ambushes unsuspecting patrons for their life stories.

Madara can’t sleep, of course. 

Two hours of staring at the dark ceiling later, he hears voices outside his door. Tobirama and Hashirama, their voices raised in some kind of argument. Madara rolls over, and drags a pillow over his head. He doesn’t want to hear what they’re saying about him, what they actually want.

Sometimes, it’s better that way.

-

All in all, Madara gets about two hours of sleep - just enough to make him feel more tired, and spends the morning binging on complementary breakfast coffee. Hashirama hovers over his shoulder - and Tobirama hovers over his, and Madara ignores them both, except to shush Hashirama whenever it looks like he’s going to start in on something.

By the time the hostess has started glaring at him, he’s depleted enough of the coffee to feel up to dealing with demons, so he lets Tobirama chivvy both of them to the car. 

“Was that a hangover?” Hashirama asks in a hushed whisper.

“No,” Madara grunts. “Hangovers are much worse.”

-

The rock is thirty miles out of town, in the middle of sandy-yellow ground and some scraggly looking sagebrush. Madara grabs a bit of deadwood of the ground to poke at it, and nothing happens. There’s not even a picture of Jesus sandblasted into the rock, which he’s actually kind of disappointed about.

“So,” he grunts, settling by the rock, “We just sit here and wait for the demons to show up.”

“Yes,” Tobirama replies, “We might be able to find them in advance if Hashirama and I searched, but they would almost certainly sense our presence and flee.”

“Sounds like that’d stop the seal from being broken too,” Madara points out, absently flipping his pocket knife between his fingers.

“They’d just come back as soon as they saw us leave,” Hashirama sighs, “I think if we want to stop this for good, we’re going to have to fight.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Madara says, giving Hashirama a feral grin.

“Violence should always be a last resort,” Hashirama says sternly, crossing his arms over his chest and shooting Madara a stern look.

“Aren’t angels supposed to be heaven’s soldiers or some shit?” Madara gives Hashirama a narrow eyed look. “Didn’t think you’d be so squeamish.”

“We could be more than that,” Hashirama says, that same air of seriousness settling over his shoulders.

Madara opens his mouth - to point out that they don’t actually have free will, to ask what he means, to scoff, but he’s interrupted by something cold tapping against his shoulder.

“Water,” Tobirama says, clipped, his eyes on Hashirama and his hackles up, “Don’t get dehydrated.”

Hashirama, being himself, immediately jumps on the gesture, grabbing the other angel around the neck and squealing about how his brother is being selfless.

Madara watches Tobirama’s face, the tension in his shoulders and how it slowly fades as Hashirama gets more distracted, and he wonders.

-

As it turns out, the demons really weren’t expecting company. Hashirama deals with the screaming innocents when Madara’s dragged them out of the line of fire, and Tobirama-

Well, Tobirama pounces on the demons like an overgrown cat. It’s kind of hypnotic, actually, and Madara has too keep tearing his eyes away from Tobirama’s dance with the knife and the shadows. He falls into and out of the darkness like it’s his home, slipping through the demons’ grasping hands like water and coming up on the other side, his angel blade bright in his hand. 

The demons fall like dominoes, and Tobirama shakes the fight off like he’s only put for the effort of a single push. The woman closest to Madara, the one who’s been watching him watch the angel asks, in her shaky voice, “How can you stand to look at that?”

Madara tilts his head at her and doesn’t answer. He’s not sure how to say he’s seen much worse on a regular basis, that he’s been fighting long enough to appreciate the grace of a predator, that there’s something about Tobirama’s form that makes him want to keep looking. 

He’s not an idiot. He knows the pretty face probably isn’t what Tobirama really looks like, and that his actual form might burn Madara’s eyes out. Still, he can’t keep from looking.

It’s Hashirama that his eyes are drawn to, though, on the way back into town. The angel should be riding high on the victory - he always did celebrate even the smallest things. But he’s being quiet, withdrawing into himself as they cart the people home, two-by-two, in Madara’s truck.

When they’re finished, they stop back by the rock to pick up Tobirama, who was standing guard. Instead of throwing open the door, Hashirama looks at Madara, and jerks his head outside.

Madara follows.

This isn’t something the other angel is in on, judging by the way his eyes flicker between them. 

“Madara,” Hashirama begins, looking out to the horizon. “There’s something I think you should know.”

“Brother!” Tobirama hisses, bristling like an angry cat.

No, Madara thinks, watching him. Not like an angry cat. Like a scared one.

“I’m the commander for this mission,” Hashirama says, an edge of biting steel in his voice. “Unless you’d like to challenge that, Tobirama?”

Madara’s sure he should be watching Hashirama. He’s the one about to reveal some kind of lifechanging secret. But he can’t keep his eyes off the unhappy expression on Tobirama’s face.

The other angel looks away, not meeting Hashirama’s eyes.

“Good,” Hashirama says, “Madara, the truth is, the angel hierarchy-”

There’s a flash of brilliant light. Before Madara can even flinch, before he can even blink, there are arms around his shoulders, dragging him against a hard chest. There’s a noise, like a thousand voices screaming in unison, like a massive sheet of glass shattering, like the emptiness in his ears after a bomb goes off. 

Madara presses closer, squeezing his eyes shut, withdrawing his psychic presence from the burning, consuming light.

He’s still dripping something sticky from his eyes when the presence abruptly fades.

“Tobirama,” he gasps, stepping away from the other man, “What just- Where’s Hashirama?”

Tobirama shuts his eyes. Madara can make out the edges of grief twisting his expression. The angel holds out a hand, and glowing runes draw themselves around his feet, around Madara and his car.

“We don’t have much time,” Tobirama rasps, “And I find myself in the unfortunate position of needing your help.”

-

“The angel hierarchy is wrong,” Tobirama says, bluntly - though it’s belied by the nervous skittering of his hands on his leg. “They’ve become - corrupt, somehow. My brother - he isn’t. He is difficult to control, even on the best of days and nearly impossible to kill. The solution they’ve arrived at is wiping his memory, whenever he does something they don’t like. They came to - retrieve him, because he was trying to help you.”

“And you were supposed to be his handler,” Madara accuses, watching Tobirama’s face crumple with guilt.

“I want him to be safe,” the angel whispers. “I want us to be as we were - oh, Madara.”

Tobirama glances at the sky, some kind of horrible grief creeping across his face. “Once,” he whispers, “Hashirama was an archangel. Once, I was worthy to stand by his side. I wanted that back. But it seems I will have to settle for a lesser good. Madara, I know where your brother is.”

Madara opens his mouth - torn between comfort and yelling - but Tobirama harshly shakes his head.

“There’s no time for that. Your brother is in hell. Should he break there, the first seal of the apocalypse will open. I’m offering you a trade - you save my brother, and I will save yours.”

“How the fuck can I do that?” Madara bites the words out, searching Tobirama’s face for answers, “In case you didn’t notice, I was useless back there.”

“You are the chosen vessel for the Archangel Michama,” Tobirama says, “They will avoid doing you harm, and your very presence in Heaven will force it into a form you can comprehend. You have a better chance than I do.”

He reaches to his belt, and Madara watches the angel sword appear in his hand. 

“Take this,” Tobirama proffers the blade, “You might need it.”

“What about you?” Madara demands, not touching it. “Won’t you have to get past - oh, I don’t know, archdemons or something?”

Tobirama glares at him. “My blade isn’t my only weapon, and I am not as fragile as a human. I will not fail. Take the blade.”

Madara grabs it, and shoots Tobirama a glare of his own. “I was- oh fuck it.”

He steps forward, gets a hand in Tobirama’s collar and tries to drag him down. The angel stands still as a wall, so, with a roll of his eyes, Madara gets on his tiptoes so he can press a kiss to his mouth.

“Come back alive,” he says, blunt as he ever is.

“I don’t understand,” Tobirama whispers, eyes wide. “You can’t know me well enough to want that.”

“I’m a psychic, remember?” Madara grins, bright and sharp, “I always know. Come back alive.”

Tobirama stares at him, then leans forward to press a kiss to Madara’s forehead. “I will do my best. I’m opening the door now - please, hurry.”

Madara nods, and spins on his heel. He’s got something to come back to now.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel as though it is a bit rules-lawyering to include Supernatural AU under the Supernatural/Fantasy prompt, but I couldn't help myself.


End file.
